Florida Cobb blushed deeply.
“She won’t say nothing,” Mr. Cobb said, suddenly disgusted. He plunked the hand mirror down on the kitchen table and dug some money out of his pocket. “Never says a goddamn word. Wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful of it.”
Ruth laughed and decided to get herself a piece of pie after all.
“I’ll take those curlers out for you now, Ivy,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
Later, after the Cobbs had gone, Mrs. Pommeroy and Ruth sat on the front porch. There was an old couch out there, upholstered in big bleeding roses, that smelled as if it had been rained on, or worse. Ruth drank beer and Mrs. Pommeroy drank fruit punch, and Ruth told Mrs. Pommeroy about visiting her mother.
“How’s Ricky?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s just, you know… He flops around.”
“That was the saddest thing, when that baby was born. You know, I never saw that poor baby.”
“I know.”
“I never saw your poor mother after that.”
Yah po-ah mothah… Ruth had missed Mrs. Pommeroy’s accent.
“I know.”
“I tried to call her. I did call her. I told her to bring her baby back here to the island, but she said he was much too sick. I made her describe what was wrong with him, and, I’ll tell you something; it didn’t sound too bad to me.”
“Oh, it’s bad.”
“It didn’t sound to me like something we couldn’t take care of out here. What did he need? He didn’t need much. Some medicine. That’s easy. Jesus, Mr. Cobb takes medicine every single day for his sugars, and he manages. What else did Ricky need? Someone to watch him. We could have done that. That’s a person’s child; you find a place for him. That’s what I told her. She cried and cried.”
“Everyone else said he should be in an institution.”
“Who said? Vera Ellis said that. Who else?”
“The doctors.”
“She should have brought that baby here to his home. He would’ve been just fine out here. She still could bring him out here. We’d take care of that child as good as anyone else.”
“She said you were her only friend. She said you were the only person out here who was nice to her.”
“That’s sweet. But it’s not true. Everyone was nice to her.”
“Not Angus Addams.”
“Oh, he loved her.”
“Loved? Loved?”
“He liked her as much as he likes anyone.”
Ruth laughed. Then she said, “Did you ever meet someone named Owney Wishnell?”
“Who’s that? From Courne Haven?”
“Pastor Wishnell’s nephew.”
“Oh, yes. That great big blond boy.”
“Yes.”
“I know who he is.”
Ruth didn’t say anything.
“Why?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Ruth said.
The porch door swung open, kicked by Robin Pommeroy’s wife, Opal, whose hands were so full of her huge son that she couldn’t operate the doorknob. The baby, on seeing Mrs. Pommeroy, let out a crazy holler, like a delighted gorilla toddler.
“There’s my baby grandson,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
“Hey, Ruth,” Opal said shyly.
“Hey, Opal.”
“Didn’t know you were here.”
“Hey, big Eddie,” Ruth said to the baby. Opal brought the child over and bent down, heaving a bit, so that Ruth could kiss the boy’s enormous head. Ruth slid over on the sofa to make space for Opal, who sat down, lifted her T-shirt, and gave a breast to Eddie. He lunged for it and set to sucking with concentration and a lot of wet noise. He sucked at that breast as if he were drawing breath through it.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Ruth asked.
“Yeah,” said Opal. She yawned without covering her mouth, showing off a mine of silver fillings.
The three women on the couch all stared at the big baby locked so fiercely onto Opal’s breast.
“He sucks like a regular old bilge pump,” Ruth said.
“Bites, too,” said the laconic Opal.
Ruth winced.
“When did you feed him last?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked.
“I don’t know. An hour ago. Half hour.”
“You should try to keep him on a schedule, Opal.”
She shrugged. “He’s always hungry.”
“Of course he is, sweetheart. That’s because you feed him all the time. Builds his appetite. You know what they say. If the mama’s a-willin’, the baby’s a-takin’.”
“They say that?” Ruth asked.
“I just made it up,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
“It’s nice how you made it rhyme like that,” Ruth said, and Mrs. Pommeroy grinned and punched her. Ruth had missed the delight of teasing people without being afraid they’d burst into tears on her. She punched Mrs. Pommeroy back.
“My idea is, I let him eat whenever he wants,” Opal said. “I figure if he’s eating, he’s hungry. He ate three hot dogs yesterday.”
“Opal!” Mrs. Pommeroy exclaimed. “He’s only ten months old!”
“I can’t help it.”
“You can’t help it? He got the hot dogs himself?” Ruth asked. Mrs. Pommeroy and Opal laughed, and the baby suddenly popped himself off the breast with the loud sound of a tight seal breaking. He lolled his head like a drunk, and then he laughed, too.
“I told a baby joke!” Ruth said.
“Eddie likes you,” Opal said. “You like Roof? You like your Auntie Roof, Eddie?” She set the baby on Ruth’s lap, where he grinned crookedly and spat up yellow soup on her pants. Ruth handed him back to his mother.
“Oops,” said Opal. She heaved the baby up and went into the house, coming out a moment later to toss a bathroom towel at Ruth. “I think it’s nap time for Eddie,” she said, and disappeared into the house again.
Ruth wiped the hot, foamy puddle off her leg. “Baby barf,” she said.
“They feed that baby too much,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
“He makes the necessary adjustments, I’d say.”
“She was feeding him chocolate fudge sauce the other day, Ruth. With a spoon. Right out of the jar. I saw it!”
“That Opal isn’t very smart.”
“She’s got great big boobs, though.”
“Oh, lucky her.”
“Lucky baby Eddie. How could she have such big boobs when she’s only seventeen? I didn’t even know what boobs were when I was seventeen.”
“Yes, you did. Jesus, Mrs. Pommeroy, you were already married when you were seventeen.”
“Yes, that’s right. But I didn’t know what boobs were when I was twelve. I saw my sister’s chest and asked her what those big things were. She said it was baby fat.”
“Gloria said that?”
“Kitty said that.”
“She should’ve told you the truth.”
“She probably didn’t know the truth.”
“Kitty? Kitty was born knowing the truth.”
“Imagine if she’d told me the truth? Imagine if she said, ‘They’re tits, Rhonda, and someday grown men will want to suck on them.’ ”
“Grown men and young boys, too. And other people’s husbands, knowing Kitty.”
“Why did you ask me about Owney Wishnell, Ruth?”
Ruth gave Mrs. Pommeroy a quick glance, then looked out at the yard. She said, “No reason.”
Mrs. Pommeroy watched Ruth for a long moment. She tilted her head. She waited.
“It’s not true that you were the only person on this island who was nice to my mother?” Ruth said.
“No, Ruth, I told you. We all liked her. She was wonderful. She was a little sensitive, though, and sometimes had trouble understanding the way some people are.”
“Angus Addams, for instance.”
“Oh, a lot of them. She couldn’t understand all the drinking. I used to tell her, Mary, these men are cold and wet ten hours a day their whole lives. That can really chafe a person. They need to drink, or there’s no way to deal with it.”